


The Chill

by asuninside



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: pod_together, F/M, M/M, Podfic, Post 2nd war, Remus & Tonks live AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-06-22 10:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15580053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asuninside/pseuds/asuninside
Summary: Remus spends Halloween at home curled up with a book while Tonks takes Teddy out to dinner and trick or treating. The night, however, doesn't do as quietly as he'd planned.





	The Chill

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much, Pod Together for giving us this opportunity. <3
> 
> And asuninside, thank you for doing this, my fic is not worthy, I *love* what you did!

PODFIC

Click to stream, right-click and save to download! 

[Regular](http://pod-together.parakaproductions.com/2018/The%20Chill.mp3)

[Without Music](http://pod-together.parakaproductions.com/2018/The%20Chill%20\(No%20Music\).mp3)

 

 

Halloween’s never been a particularly pleasant time of the year, for Remus. Even without the bad association he has with it now, it’s always seemed rather pointless, to him. He doesn’t know what there is to celebrate about the thin fabric between life and death getting ever-more-fragile for a night. Perhaps, if he were a muggle, he might be inclined to care more.

 

He remembers once, a lifetime ago, he’d gone camping with the local muggle boys, and they’d spent the night listening to Mike’s father’s stories. The other boys had been less scared of the escaped axe murderer story - which had terrified eleven-year-old Remus - than the story of a little girl’s ghost haunting the woods that they were in. The girl’s story had saddened Remus, who couldn’t imagine being trapped as a ghost, all alone, out there. He’d walked off after everybody else had gone to sleep to try and find her, tell her about Hogwarts where all ghosts were welcome. Mike’s father had found him before he’d gotten far, and he’d had to abandon his search. When he’d gone back home and asked for help from his father, Lyall had explained to him that it was a made-up story, meant to scare muggle children.

 

But, as Remus was finding out time and time again, there’s a lot you do for your children, big and small. So here he is, watching Dora put finishing touches on Teddy’s Halloween outfit - “Just a little longer on the nose - perfect, Teddy!” - and telling him, as solemnly as he can, about the grave dangers of trick-or-treating.

 

“You see, Teddy,” he says, biting back a laugh that keeps threatening to come out of him when Teddy’s looking at him with wide, scared eyes, “If you hesitate even for one moment before you take the sweets offered, a bat will dive in and get it. Then you’re not allowed to get any treats from that house until next year.”

 

Dora rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. Teddy lets out a sound that can only be described as a whimper. “But daaaad,” he complains, “What if I’m too short to reach?”

 

“Then we’ll know that you’re not ready for the dangers of trick-or-treating. Too short to reach the bowl, too slow to run from the bats when they come,…” He sighs. “Dora, dear, maybe we should cancel it for this year? Try again when he’s bigger?”

 

“No!” Teddy yells out. At his parents’ raised eyebrows, he scrunches up his face and is quiet when he speaks again. “You promised!,” he complains, “You said, when I’m four, I can go! I’m four _and a half now,_ da!” He’s pouting so adorably that Remus is almost - _almost_ \- tempted to go out with them.

 

Instead, he lets out another fake sigh. “Alright, I suppose, long as your mum’s with you. You _will_ take care of him, won’t you, dear?” When their eyes meet, he sees that Dora is on the edge of bursting into laughter as much as he is. They shouldn’t have this much fun teasing their kid, should they?

 

“I’ll do my best,” she says, and tilts her head up. “I’m an Auror, you know.”

 

Once they’re gone, Remus grabs some tea, and settles onto his favorite armchair. He feels a brief moment of guilt before he starts reading. He should’ve gone. It’s one of his weeks, and he only gets one of those a month. To give a day of it up just because he doesn’t like Halloween…

 

 _And costumes. And screaming kids that are not mine. And the cold._ Alright, maybe he can live with letting Dora have one extra night this month, after all. Maybe he’ll go next year. Within a few minutes, he’s too engrossed in his book to remember where he is, let alone what day it is.

 

 _Crazy enough to start a war._ Smith writes, _There aren’t many people like that. Most of us just follow along once war has been announced._

 

That takes him out of his daze for a moment. Since he’s a fast reader, his eyes rarely linger on the same paragraph for long, but this sentence he re-reads a couple of times. Like most quotes do, it gets twisted in his mind and he finds himself and his friends in it. How the war felt, both times. Somebody else’s battle that they’d had to join. He gets up to grab something a little stronger than tea - he can feel one of his moods coming - but stops short when he sees a silhouette in the hallway. Despite his house’s small size, the person is somehow far enough to appear blurry.

 

“Dora?” he calls out. “Forget something?”

 

There’s no response. He reaches for his wand to cast Lumos and his eyes lower for a second as he searches his robe’s deep pockets. When he looks back up, the silhouette is gone. He casts the spell regardless, but its light reveals only an empty hallway.

 

 _Maybe I don’t need that drink after all_ , he thinks, chuckling to himself. He must be exhausted, if he’s seeing things. He should go take a kip. He casts a charm on his cup to keep the tea warm, and trudges to his bedroom.

 

He wakes up thinking of Sirius. Not an unusual thing in and of itself, Remus should be used to it by now, but it manages to give him goosebumps, somehow. He must have been having a dream, because the first thought he can remember having is about the time Sirius and he had had a fist-fight, like muggles, when they were fourteen. He hadn’t thought about that in - he can’t even remember.

 

 _The brain is a mysterious thing,_ he thinks, and drags himself back into his tiny living room. The sip of tea he takes gets spluttered all over his sort-of-clean carpet, because it’s cold as ice.

 

“Nice one, Remus, you div,” he mutters to himself, and makes a gagging motion. How could he have forgotten to cast a warming charm?

 

As he walks over to the kitchen to brew some more, he doesn’t notice the silhouette on the right side of the living room door.

 

Once he has a fresh cup of tea, he considers not turning the porch light back on, but decides against it. If for no other reason, he should let trick and treaters come so the house isn’t full of sweets when Teddy’s back. As he enters the living room again, his eyes are drawn to the mirror on the wall. He sees what looks like ripples on the corner of it, but when he narrows his eyes to focus on it, its surface is as smooth as ever.

 

It doesn’t take long for the bell to ring, and Remus slowly walks over, a bowl of Bertie Bott’s and another of mixed sweets from Honeydukes floating behind him. It’s an older brother and his two little siblings, about Teddy’s age. One’s dressed like a bee (an odd, but sweet choice, Remus thinks), the other like a house-elf. Remus isn’t sure whether or not it’s offensive. He smiles and waves at them as they take their sweets, and decides not to worry about it.

 

The two kids are peering down at their now fuller bags when a crisp breeze makes Remus shudder. The older brother glares at Remus afterwards, before they leave, making him blink and furrow his eyebrows. He’s not very chatty, but he doesn’t think he’s been rude.

 

 _One more thing on the list of things not to let linger on my mind,_ he thinks absentmindedly, and goes back to drink more tea.

 

The next trick-or-treater actually manages to put a small but _real_ smile on Remus’ face. He’s (she’s?) wearing an exceptionally realistic dementor costume. Even the details on the thin veil covering their bones is conjured wonderfully. Remus compliments them by pretending to be scared.

 

There are few children who drop by after that, and Remus is grateful for his almost-secluded living arrangements once again. He even manages to finish another chapter of his book before Dora brings Teddy back.

 

“Had fun, you little monster?”

 

“Mum says that’s not a good word,” Teddy declares, unimpressed.

 

Remus fights the urge to roll his eyes. He should be grateful for people trying to protect him, he really should. “Mum’s right, Teddy. Sorry.”

 

For her part, Dora looks slightly uncomfortable, and rather tired. “Auntie Andi kept us at hers for ages. I told her a four year old doesn’t have the patience for a five course meal! She told me not to project,” she tells Remus, not taking off her cape, or making a move to come inside. She looks like she’s ready to go home and get into bed.

 

“We had food. Then went to get sweets. Mum talked t’ everyone! Changed.”

 

Dora smiles half-heartedly, and Remus smiles back. He knows her urge to be friendly and entertain is genuine, but also tires her out after a few hours. One of the many endearing things he’d learned about her when they’d lived together.

 

“I only transformed a couple of times, you tattletale,” she giggles, ruffling Teddy’s hair.

 

“Thank you, Dora,” Remus says, and leans in to give her a hug, which she accepts with enthusiasm, despite her fatigue. “Good night.”

 

“Night,” she says, grinning, and gives Teddy a muggle soldier’s salute before apparating away.

 

“Now, let’s put these away and go to sleep,” Remus says, reaching out for Teddy’s pumpkin-shaped bag. Before he can grab it, Teddy shakes his head and starts running.

 

“No! No!” Teddy chants, disappearing off towards his bedroom.

 

Remus sighs, wondering if he should summon the sweets away. He’s about to reach for his wand, thinking of rotting teeth and Andromeda’s distaste, when he hears a splintering crash. His head whips around, and he sees that the chandelier in the living room is on the floor, in pieces.

 

“I…” He looks around for an open window to see if another breeze - a strong one - might’ve done it, but the windows are sealed shut. Confused, he mumbles a couple of repairing spells, and the chandelier makes a few valiant attempts to reassemble itself. In the end, it doesn’t look near presentable enough to keep around, and he’s never had an attachment to the thing beyond the gratefulness for a housewarming gift, so Remus vanishes it. He looks around the dark room, then glances up at where the chandelier used to hang. He’ll need to do something about the lack of light.

 

_Tomorrow. That’s tomorrow’s problem._

 

Once a giggling and much too hyper Teddy is safely tucked away in bed, Remus allows himself a sip of bitter firewhisky, and heads to bed. It’s not even below sixty, but it feels cold enough that he has half a mind to bring out his winter pyjamas. Instead, he puts on a ratty old t-shirt. He falls into a deep, dreamless sleep before he can finish a thought about whether or not he should make vegetable soup for Teddy tomorrow.

 

~

 

“DA!”

 

Remus jerks awake, eyes wide, looking around frantically. “W-what? Teddy?” He can barely make him out in the dim light from the window.

 

“Dad!” Teddy shouts again, jumping onto the bed.

 

“What’s wrong?” Remus asks, his voice hoarse from sleep and fear. He grabs his wand from under his pillow, and grips it tight with one hand while holding Teddy close to him with the other. “What happened?”

 

“My chocolate!” Teddy bellows.

 

“I… What?”

 

“It’s all ice!” His lips are quivering now, and Remus, even in his sleepy state, can already sense the beginnings of a tantrum.

 

“Ice?” he asks, trying to wake up.

 

“ICE!” Teddy repeats, nodding. “All of it. And I. I didn’t do it I swear. It’s all ice.” He looks betrayed and scared at the same time, as if he’s worried he’ll get into trouble for something somebody else has done. Reminds Remus of poor Peter, a bit, when he’d get caught with a dungbomb Sirius or James had thrown at him.

 

“Show me,” he says, pushing Teddy off a little so he can get out from under the covers. You never know when Teddy will be clingy, but Remus gets lucky and Teddy shuffles away without protest.

 

Just as he’s about to get a foot out of the blanket, he remembers that he’s starkers. He eyes the floor and sees a pair of pants.

 

“You walk ahead,” Remus tells Teddy. “Wait for me in your room. Dad’s right behind you.” Teddy, thankfully, runs out of the room obediently.

 

In a few seconds, he’s presentable in a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, grabbed off the floor - _Clean enough,_ he thinks - and he swiftly makes his way into Teddy’s room through the narrow corridor. To his surprise, Teddy wasn’t too far off when he said ‘ice’. His bag of sweets has frost all over the fake pumpkin, and when he grabs one of the wrappers from within it, his hand hurts from how icy-cold it is.

 

“Must’ve been a cold night,” he says, smiling at Teddy while going through potential reasons for it in his head. A trick candy from one of the houses? A teenager messing with little kids by charming their bags? “We’ll leave it out in the kitchen and it’ll be ready to eat in no time. We need pancakes first anyway, don’t we Teddy?”

 

Just like that, the lip-quivering stops and Teddy’s back to his usual bubbly self. “WITH RASBERS!”

 

“Sure,” Remus chuckles, and picks the little boy up and carries him into the kitchen in the half-light.

 

~

 

“I promise, Remus, I’m not-- You _know_ I wouldn’t make this up!” Dora tries to explain, playing with her hands nervously.

 

Remus doesn’t know what to say. “But… Did he say why? Did I do something wrong?” His mind’s going a mile a minute, trying to remember if he’d shouted at someone in traffic, or something else to scare Teddy off.

 

“It’s not you! It’s the house. It… He doesn’t want to come back to the house. He started crying when I told him it was time to pack. He _never_ did that before, he’s always so happy to see you, he misses you, and…” She shakes her head, her brown hair somehow losing even more volume, and lengthening as she speaks.

 

“But _what_ is he so terrified of? He was quiet last month, I suppose, but I don’t think there was anything… Did he give any specifics, other than that he was scared?”

 

“He said there was a strange man in the house.”

 

Remus’ heart almost stops. “Strange--”

 

“Not _you,”_ Dora says quickly, somehow understanding his worry. She still has a way of reading his mind when it comes to Teddy and Remus’ insecurities about him.

 

“What strange man? It--” It dawns on him. “A nightmare,” he says, mostly to himself. “Poor little one. He must’ve had a nightmare, and…” His voice trails off, and he waves his right hand to mean that Teddy’s thoughts must’ve gotten away from him, making him think that the nightmare was real.

 

“Maybe he _was_ too young for Halloween,” Dora says miserably. “I don’t know what to do.”

 

“Let me talk to him,” Remus says, sure that he can calm his son down. A moment later, Teddy’s face appears in the crackling fire. “Hey there.” He waves a few fingers at Teddy.

 

“Hi,” he says, his voice so broken and small that Remus has to fight the urge to apparate over and hold him.

 

“Mum says you don’t want to come over?” he asks gently.

 

“I…” Embarrassment gets added into the fear on Teddy’s expression. He shakes his head.

 

“Why not, love?”

 

“It’s scary,” Teddy almost-whispers.

 

“Why’s it scary?”

 

Teddy looks away, and his face is almost out of the fire before he lifts his head and faces Remus again. “Things… Things move. And, and there’s a man. I see him. Then he goes away. And it’s cold. So cold.”

 

It’d been a chilly week, but… “I’ll put on more warming charms. Don’t worry,” he says, not knowing how to tell Teddy that it’d all been a nightmare. “Wait. Did you say things move?” The sense of dread he’d been feeling lifts instantaneously.

 

“Y-yes?”

 

“Get your mum,” Remus says, grinning and fighting back a laugh of delight. Of course, being a metamorphmagus, there was almost no chance that Teddy’d be a squib, but Remus couldn’t help but feel excited.

 

“Remus?” Dora’s voice comes, her face smushed into the fire with Teddy’s.

 

“Dora. Did you _listen_ to what he was saying? ‘Things move’.” He waits for her to catch on. After a few moments, he can’t hold back anymore. “Involuntary magic! And at this age. We need to be proud, not worried about why he’s scared. Of course he’s terrified, he doesn’t know what’s going on.”

 

But she doesn’t look happy, like he’d expect. She looks confused. “But Remus, he… Teddy, can you give me and your dad a few minutes? Go see if Keena needs feeding.” Once Teddy’s out of earshot, she continues. “I don’t think it’s that. He’s shown no bursts of magic in the last three weeks, and he… Being cold, hearing wind, seeing strange men,... It doesn’t sound like his own magic to me. Are you sure you don’t have a poltergeist?”

 

“I’ll give it to you that it might not be his own magic but I think I’d know if I was being haunted, Dora,” he says with a frown. “And I’d take care of it. I _know,_ better than you even, the dangers a poltergeist can pose for a child without a wand.”

 

“You’ve been… Distracted lately. Maybe search the house? For some peace of mind? Then I could bring him over, we could walk into each room, show him that it’s ok, if it is?”

 

Remus rubs his temple with his right hand. “Sure,” he sighs. He _has_ been distracted, he can’t deny that much. For some reason, for the last week he’s been thinking of Sirius near constantly. Of course he used to miss and remember him often, but it’s been much more consuming. He keeps remembering random memories, from their Hogwarts days especially, or waking up thinking Sirius is in the bed with him.

 

Loneliness is a terrible thing, and maybe it’s finally getting to him. _Or maybe it’s just the time of the year,_ he thinks hopefully, _And it’ll pass._

 

He has to give himself credit for not brushing Dora’s suggestion off: He meticulously plans out the order in which he’ll search rooms, what are the most likely places for boggarts or poltergeists to linger, and so on. He still isn’t expecting to find anything, so it’s a shock when, when he steps into dark the washroom, the door shuts behind him rather violently, despite there being no draft to cause it.

 

“What?” He quickly casts the first three revelation spells that he can think of, to no effect. If there _is_ a non-being here, it’s moving, probably already out of the room. _Maybe it_ **_is_ ** _a poltergeist,_ he thinks. He has too much experience to try and chase it, so he charms the washroom lights on, and continues his search slowly. He makes his way around the house, looking in mirrors and behind cabinets, methodically moving from room to room.

 

 _I need to do some renovation,_ he ponders absentmindedly as he climbs up the creaky stairs. Maybe it’s the old house scaring Teddy. Lily used to be amazing with reparation charms, and he wishes she were there to remind him how to fix floorboards.

 

All of a sudden, he hears something again, a hollow scraping, and stops dead in his tracks. Remus can’t quite place the sound. It’s similar to an animal scratching on a wooden surface, but he has goosebumps, and knows that this is no friendly racoon making a nest underneath the house.

 

Remus stills, tries to breathe slowly, and listens to try to catch where the sound is emanating from, but fails. Then he thinks of what Teddy had said, and his sweets after Halloween -- the cold. Teddy hadn’t been wrong, it _had_ been cooler in the house lately, and maybe this creature either causes it, or likes the cold and goes to places that are. He walks up the stairs, and instantly feels himself getting warmer.

 

_Right. Downstairs it is, then._

 

Trying to keep an eye out for movement had been relatively easy, but trying to gauge the temperature whilst walking is difficult, even when he concentrates. Despite the goosebumps, he feels more determined than worried. It _does_ bother him a little that he can’t quite place what it is, but in the end it doesn’t matter too much. What it _is,_ is a barrier between him and his son, and he won’t have it.

 

He’s about to give up and go look up a spell to detect heat when there’s a loud banging sound. _The basement. Of course._ Dark, dreary, cold. He’s a fool to not have gone there first, really.

 

A quick spell spreads the heavy door wide open, and a gush of wind strikes Remus with such unexpected bite that he shudders. _What_ **_is_ ** _this thing? A dementor?_

 

He _has_ been thinking of odd memories lately. Is there a creature _similar_ to a dementor, one that feeds on bittersweet memories, rather than pain? He shakes his head like a dog, trying to shake the thought off physically. He’s not making any sense. All there is to do, is to walk down and see what this thing is.

 

“Prote--” he starts, wanting to cast a blocking spell just in case, as he walks into the basement, but the word dies on his tongue.

 

He either can’t breathe, or can’t stop panting. Whatever it is, he has no breath in his lungs. His chest feels like it’s being squeezed, and he’s just completely, utterly confused. And, he has to admit, shaken. Whatever he’d thought about not being afraid of dark creatures or curses, he takes back, mentally.

 

“This isn’t real,” he says out loud, trying to steady himself. “You… Boggart?” But no, it doesn’t make sense for a boggart to do this, and they can’t freeze rooms, as far as he knows.

 

The basement is covered in either ice or dew all over. Remus half expects it to start snowing. The chains that he uses for the transformation are stuck onto the stone floor, where most of the ice is gathered, for some reason. The bare room somehow feels even less welcoming than usual. A large, almost-empty rectangular box of brick and concrete.

 

And, in the middle of it, Sirius Black.

 

Well, not Sirius Black, of course. But a creature that has taken his form. The not-Sirius is tapping his left foot just barely, impatiently looking around. It’s done a rather good job, even gotten the detail of his mannerisms right.

 

“Decipula,” Remus says, hoping his voice is steady enough to cast the spell properly. He reckons it’s more important to contain the creature than figuring out what it is. He can let the ministry worry about it, or perhaps the most recent DADA professor at Hogwarts, whoever it is these days.

 

Not-Sirius’ head jolts towards Remus. His eyes flash, and he opens his mouth as if to say something. Remus suspects that if the creature could imitate human speech, he would. His gaze is intense, and Remus thinks he should be more scared, that his skin should be crawling, but all he feels is confusion.

 

“Merlin,” he breathes out. “What _are_ you?”

 

Not-Sirius’ mouth moves, but no sound comes out. Remus furrows his eyebrows. “Are you… Are you trying to say something?”

 

Not-Sirius gapes for a moment before grinning, then it starts laughing, without sound. He even claps one hand on his thigh like Sirius used to, sometimes. It keeps moving its mouth, and Remus wonders if it had seen a moving photo of Sirius, and is imitating it.

 

He tilts his head, trying to read Not-Sirius’ lips. Not-Sirius is too animated, moving his head this way and that, and Remus is tempted to grab its chin and hold it still to try to understand the words. Not that they matter. They’re either from a memory, an old photograph, or they’re not real. Most likely, the creature isn’t even forming real words, just moving its mouth randomly.

 

Remus is about to give up on trying to understand it when Not-Sirius’ head snaps towards him again, with that intense gaze. It flings himself towards Remus, holding out his hand just barely a foot away now, and the chilly wind sweeps over the room again. Remus takes a step back. Not-Sirius has the audacity to look offended, and saddened, by Remus shying away from him.

 

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Remus grumbles. “But I’m rather keen on not dying. Particularly not after falling into a trap, rather embarrassing way for a Dark Arts expert to die, see.”

 

The creature looks enraged, and Remus braces himself for a duel. Instead of finally attacking Remus, though, the creature starts waving his arms around, and… Yelling? Is the thing trying to yell at Remus? Certainly looks like it, despite the lack of sound.

 

Then, as quickly as the angry gestures had come, they disappear. Not-Sirius stills, and looks at Remus with what, on a human, would’ve been a pensive expression. It looks at the ground for a few moments, as if searching for an object. Then, slowly, it looks Remus in the eyes again. It points at itself. When Remus doesn’t react, he gestures more urgently at himself.

 

“What?” Remus asks. “What about you?”

 

Not-Sirius runs his left hand through his locks, the spitting image of a frustrated Sirius, and Remus genuinely doesn’t know what to do with himself. While the creature takes its time to plan its next move, Remus starts analysing it.

 

It looks like Sirius, but in his twenties, before Azkaban. Sort of. He doesn’t have the skinny, unhealthy look that Sirius had had before he died, but he doesn’t quite look like a Hogwarts student either. What picture could the creature possibly have found, to have come up with this image of Sirius? Could it be mental? Could it have seen Remus’ dreams, and taken from them what it thought would affect Remus the most?

 

Not-Sirius tries pointing at himself again, but this time it has both hands held out in front of itself, and it’s slapping its chest almost like an ape. Its eyes look determined, although Remus can’t imagine what it thinks it’ll get from this. He doesn’t _seem_ to want to hurt Remus, but Remus can’t imagine why else it would dwell in Remus’ basement.

 

It moves its mouth, very slowly this time, and Remus gets the chance to try to read its lips.

 

“‘Gloomy’?” he tries. The creature glares. Realization dawns. “Oh! ‘Moony’. You’re…” He lets out a dark chuckle. Somehow it had seen the word ‘Moony’, but not understood that that wasn’t _Sirius._ It made no sense to point at Sirius and say ‘Moony’. The knowledge that this creature doesn’t know relaxes Remus, somehow. There’d been a part of him worried until now. Now, the cheapness of the imitation is more clear.

 

He feels a chill again, and realizes he’s been staring at the floor for a while, and Not-Sirius wants his attention again. Not-Sirius’ hand is hanging up in the air, as if it wants to grab Remus, but it makes no move to get closer. It shakes its head, and points at Remus, then mouths ‘Moony’ again.

 

“Great, you can sense my thoughts,” Remus says dryly, not knowing why he’s bothering to speak to the creature.

 

Not-Sirius’ eyes grow big and it puts both hands into its hair, making a motion as if to pull its hair off. It starts moving its mouth rapidly again, and Remus feels compelled to help it. Perhaps it’s a confused soul, not knowing what to do, and taking familiar forms to try to contact with the living. It _has_ been here since Halloween, after all. It would make sense.

 

“It’s ok,” he says calmly, and moves towards the creature. He even holds out a trembling hand, trying to push through the cold. “I’ll help you. Tell me what you need.”

 

The creature looks at Remus’ hand, then his face. After what looks like it making a decision, it nods and steps towards Remus. Instead of shaking Remus’ hand, though, it hugs Remus. It wraps its frigid form around Remus, and honest-to-goodness holds him.

 

The oddest part of this already puzzling day is that it… Feels normal. The embrace keeps going, and it doesn’t even feel _that_ cold, Remus thinks, almost relaxing into the touch. He’s surprised that he can feel the touch of a ghost at all.

 

Its hands are soft and strong, but there is no warmth to them. As Not-Sirius rests its unexpectedly pointy chin on Remus’ nape, Remus isn’t even sure where to put his hands. Not-Sirius doesn’t seem to have a solid torso, because its chest is halfway into Remus’. Hesitantly, he puts a hand on its shoulder, pleasantly surprised to find purchase. His heart races as he tries to make sense of all this. And a traitorous part of him is enjoying this literal ghost of his past. He hasn’t held the real Sirius in so long.

 

“‘mus,” comes a hoarse whisper.

 

Remus’ eyes grow as wide as saucers. Did the creature just say his name?

 

“Remus,” Not-Sirius whispers again.

 

Remus tries to wrench away from its grasp, but its grip is surprisingly firm. In the end, Remus pulls his head back to look at the creature. It looks sad, but hopeful.

 

“Say that again,” Remus demands, feeling his chest swell up.

 

It’s Not-Sirius’ time to widen his eyes. “Remus?” he whispers, unsure.

 

“Merlin and Circe what… What _are_ you?” Remus asks again.

 

It starts moving its mouth, but Remus only hears a couple of the words. “Can” and “me”.

 

The gears turn in Remus’ head. “You asked if I could hear you,” he says slowly. The creature nods. “Yes. A little.”

 

Not-Sirius looks at the floor again, trying to pick the words to say, from the looks of it. “Me,” it says, and repeats it a few times.

 

“It’s you?”

 

Not-Sirius nods.

 

“It’s not possible,” Remus says, shaking his head and trying to step away. Not-Sirius holds him firmly on the spot, and nods frantically, and keeps repeating “me”, half of the time audibly, the other half silently.

 

When Not-Sirius kisses him, its lips somehow aren’t freezing like the rest of it. When they pull apart, Remus notices that the hands on its arms aren’t that cold anymore, either. But the ice around the room remains, and Remus has the urge to curl up in front of the fireplace.

 

While Not-Sirius holds onto him and watches him expectantly, Remus decides that if it’s been around for a week, it’ll be around for longer. Whatever...whoever it is… can wait for Remus to have a cup of tea and at least attempt to gather his wits before they continue this.

 

Could it really be Sirius?

 

“I’m going upstairs,” he tells Not-Sirius slowly. It looks confused, and tilts its head. “You can come up if you wish, but I’m bloody freezing and need a strong cup or five before I continue any of this.”

 

Not-Sirius’ eyebrows rise up, but it does let Remus’ arms go.

 

“You can interact with me,” Remus says while he walks up the stairs. “So you can interact with objects. You seem to be handling stairs fine too,” he adds, glancing back and watching Not-Sirius walk behind him. “I’ll give you a quill and some parchment. Writing might be easier than talking. I’ve never seen a ghost right after the death, I have to admit, so I’m not sure how the process is, practically speaking.”

 

He has a large mug of boiling hot tea on one hand when he sits down at the kitchen table, parchment and quill laid out in front of him. Not-Sirius frowns at the table, seemingly displeased.

 

“What?” Remus asks. “Illiterate?”

 

Not-Sirius’ glare is almost as harsh as the one it’d given Remus down in the basement. Then it moves its hand up, but stops short of picking up the quill. Its hand moves back and forth. Remus is confused until Not-Sirius attempts to pick the quill up, but its hand goes through it.

 

“Oh,” Remus says, understanding. Not-Sirius, whatever stage it’s at in its ghostdom, can’t deliberately interact with objects quite yet. If it’s that fresh, it’s even more proof that it’s not Sirius. Another ghost, or maybe poltergeist, unsure about how to present itself in the living world. Remus almost pities it, but the pain he feels in his chest from seeing his dead friend’s face makes it difficult to feel sorry for it.

 

Remus takes the parchment, and writes to Dora. He tells her to keep Teddy for another week, and that his house is indeed haunted. He hopes another week will be enough to help Not-Sirius.

 

The next couple of days are, if possible, even weirder than the basement incident had been. Not-Sirius follows Remus around the house as Remus goes about his business. Every now and again, it tries to speak, or touch something like a cup of tea or Remus’ wand, that one time, but with little luck. By the end of the second day Remus doesn’t even hesitate before wishing it a good night.

 

Maybe he’ll keep the thing around, like a pet. He feels guilty as soon as he thinks it. It might not be Sirius, but it was probably _someone,_ once. A person just like Remus. A person who’s confused and needs help, now.

 

When Remus wakes up on the morning of the third day, Not-Sirius is standing next to his bed, grinning rather like a maniac, Remus thinks. “Good morning?” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes. Not-Sirius waves a parchment in front of Remus’ face. Remus forces his eyes to focus, and sees that the parchment has something written on it. Not-Sirius must’ve managed to hold a quill!

 

_It’s me, Moony_

 

He looks up at Not-Sirius, not understanding. It can’t be. Sirius has been dead for years now, it makes no sense, it… He doesn’t know what’s worse. If this creature believes itself to be Sirius but isn’t, it’ll be hell to untangle this mess. But it’s even worse if it _is_ Sirius, because…

 

“No,” Remus says quietly, closing his eyes. “Please. Please don’t be Sirius.” He can’t bear to open his eyes, but he can feel Not-Sirius’ gaze boring into his skin. “Please don’t be a ghost.” He doesn’t know how he’d live with a Sirius that’s here but that he can’t touch and--

 

“Hold on,” he says, opening his eyes and sitting up. “How are you a ghost if I can touch you?” It hadn’t occurred to him, but they’d definitely physically interacted more in the basement than he’d thought possible with a ghost. And clearly Not-Sirius wasn’t a poltergeist. “So what…”

 

Not-Sirius points at the parchment again, the sentence it had written.

 

“You’re not a ghost,” Remus says uncertainly. Not-Sirius shakes his head. “Or a poltergeist, or a boggart, or, or--” Not-Sirius rolls its eyes, but shakes its head at the same time, confirming that no, it isn’t. “But then what are you?” Not-Sirius almost puts its finger through the parchment. “You’re Sirius.” Not-Sirius -- _Sirius?_ \-- nods frantically. “You’re...alive?”

 

Not-Sirius - Sirius - whoever he is, makes a “so so” gesture with his right hand.

 

“The thinning veil,” Remus whispers. Not-Sirius -- no, no, it _is_ Sirius -- Sirius nods. “You’re… You’ve crossed. You’re trying to--” Sirius cuts him off with a look. Remus can’t help but let a burst of laughter escape. “You’ve _managed_ to cross? Come back?”

 

Sirius grins silently.

 

“It’s odd, a quiet Sirius,” Remus says, smiling. “Bloody brilliant, when you think about it. No talk-back.”

 

Sirius laughs silently, and sits down on the bed, close to Remus, but not touching.

 

“Is it… Is it always the same?”

 

Sirius shakes his head with a sad smile.

 

“Is it getting better?” Remus asks tentatively.

 

To Remus’ relief, Sirius’ sad smile grows into a genuine one again, and Sirius nods.

 

“You’re coming back,” Remus whispers, scared to believe it, but knowing that it’s true all the same.


End file.
